The Three Thieves
by NeoRogueShadows
Summary: In the city of Drakenmoor, three thieves decide to steal some stuff. Fairly basic, I know, but I think it's fun. Oneshot. Please review!


**Author's Notes  
**_Baldur's Gate _is an awesome game. It introduced me to D&D. But before I played it, I read the novelization for _Baldur's Gate II. _In hindsight, perhaps not the best idea, to read the novel of the second game before even playing the first.  
But anyway, I did. It was...well, okay. Not great. But I loved the drow in it. I liked the way they were portrayed. Mind, this is the first I ever learned of drow. I didn't know about Drizzt Do'Urden, didn't know how over-used the drow had become. So when I got _Baldur's Gate_, I decided that my character was going to be a dark elf. Which, given the limits of the game, really meant that I was going to roll up a black-skinned elf and pretend in my head it was a dark elf.  
It made sense at the time.  
I really liked Iliira Ii'ilmerias, and I when playing D&D I tend to roll her up. The problem is that most campaigns don't easily lend themselves to having a character who is a scion of the dead God of Murder. So a few years ago I set about divorcing Iliira from the _Baldur's Gate_ universe, and I came up with a generic backstory that I could slap into just about any campaign setting. And since I was at it, I wrote this.  
Enjoy.

* * *

"Ever notice how people never look up?"

Iliira nodded. She sat with her back against a chimney on the roof of a merchant's home, arms crossed. She was making no move to hide herself from the people in the market below her, which was still bustling even as the sun set. Well, not her _presence_, anyway. Neither was her companion, Derak, a pale-skinned, blond man dressed in simple clothes and a hooded cloak. At the moment, he had the hood down.

"I've always wondered about that." Derak said. "Just noticed it one day. And it's not like I'm immune. I never look up, never notice what's going on over my head."

"There's a lot that goes over your head," Iliira said, smirking.

Derak looked at her. "I know," he said. "Birds. There's signs, sometimes. And of course, we use it to...what's so funny?"

Iliira had a hand at her mouth, stifling a full-on laugh that might have attracted attention to her. "Nothing." She said. "Something funny I remembered. I agree, there's a lot that goes over your head." She stood up, getting behind the chimney's cover before making any overt actions, like stretching. Derak watched her, and noticed that she wasn't even as tall as the chimney she was using as cover. She was dressed very strangely for someone her height - dark cloth and leather, soft boots, and a pair of knives, one in her right boot and one in a scabbard on her right thigh. She also wore a long, dark gray cloak with the deepest hood Derak had ever seen, that covered almost all of her face except for her chin.

"Hard to believe you're twenty," he said after a moment.

"Elves age slower." Iliira said. She looked around, then pulled her hood down and shook loose her shoulder-length, white hair and brushed it away from her red eyes. In the waning light and abundant shadows of the evening, her skin seemed darker then it normally was - quite a feat, since it was already black as coal.

"Even dark elves?" Derak asked.

"We're elves," Iliira said, turning to look at Derak. She wasn't simply small, she actually _looked_ young - just over thirteen, as a human would of guessed. "Nasty, evil, sadistic elves, I guess, but elves all the same."

"How much longer until you look..." Derak began, pausing and thinking of a good way to phrase what he wanted to say.

"Until I look old enough to buy an ale?" Iliira asked. "I don't know. Some elves who visited my hometown looked even younger than me at the same age. I think about twenty-five."

Derak nodded a little, looking back down at the market. A moment later, he felt arms around his shoulders, and Iliira's cheek against his own.

"I only _look_ young, you know," she said softly.

Derak smiled a little, then remembered something he'd heard. "But...don't dark elves kill the people they sleep with?" He asked, raising an eyebrow.

Iliira stiffened a little, then pulled back. Derak looked to her, and saw her pulling her hood back up. "There _is_ a lot that goes over you head," the dark elf said, turning and walking away, towards another rooftop within jumping distance.

Derak stared a moment, then something clicked. "Hey!" He exclaimed, getting up and chasing after her. "I get it now. A lot that goes over my head. Very funny..."

* * *

The city was called Drakenmoor. It was the largest of the Three Cities, an alliance of the otherwise independent city-states of Drakenmoor, Cylordath, and Karadale. Karadale was located inland, and was the smallest of the cities, used primarily as a meeting point for farmers and ranchers and also to guard the sole entrance into the cities through the Pyren Mountains. Cylordath was a port city in every sense of the word, maintaining a vast merchant fleet that traveled to far-distant lands, and respectable navy that had never been bested (cynics noted that the navy had also never been used against any foes other then pirates). And Drakenmoor...

...Well, that was the question that was oft-debated throughout the Three Cities. What did Drakenmoor actually bring to the alliance of the Three Cities, beyond its name? It was located further north on the coast than Cylordath, and had a decent navy and merchant fleet of its own, but it hardly compared to Cylordath in that respect. It was located closest to the richest parts of the Pyren Mountains, and so had the most mines for iron and other metals, but the Karadel and Cylornian mines were hardly lacking themselves.

Usually the debates didn't last overtly long. Drakenmoor one of the Three Cities, and that was that. The Karadel and Cylornians weren't apt to drop Drakenmoor just because it served no poetic purpose. The Draken contributed their share of taxes to the collective treasury of the Cities, and so they remained.

Iliira found it oddly fitting, that she was an outsider in a city that was considered an outsider itself. Although, she had never really belonged in her home town to begin with. The circumstances of her departure, however, were not something she liked to think about these days.

No, these days she liked to think instead about how rich she was becoming.

"It'll be easy." Alton said later, as he, Iliira, and Derak stood in an alley outside of a magistrate's office. Alton was a tall, handsome man in his late twenties, with a full goatee and the look of someone who'd cheat his own mother.

Iliira held up her hand at that. "Never, ever, _ever_ say that," she begged. "The only time anyone ever says 'it'll be easy' or 'so far so good' or something, is right before everything goes wrong."

Alton sighed. "Okay." He said. "Well, it _won't_ be easy, then. All I can promise you is blood, sweat, and tears."

"And my share," Derak noted.

"Right, and that." Alton said, looking out the alley. "Now, this magistrate, he doesn't keep guards, so we won't have a repeat of last month."

"Thank the gods," Iliira said.

"Exactly." Alton said. "Here's the difficult part, though: I've got no clue what the inside of this place looks like."

Derak and Iliira stared, open-mouthed. "You haven't checked it out?" Iliira demanded. "You want to hit a magistrate's office, and you don't know what it looks like?"

Alton shook his head. "Wasn't time."

"Why not?"

"Because a smuggler of black lotus was just caught this morning. He was bringing in the lotus and being paid by the distributor in gems rather then gold. When he was caught, the magistrate appropriated all his belongings, and for now it's all sitting in here." He patted the wall of the building.

Derak stared at the wall. He closed his eyes. "Value." He demanded.

Alton shrugged. "It was _black lotus_," he said. "Has to be a lot."

Iliira bit her lip. "No, it doesn't," she pointed out. "A major shipment came in a month ago, remember? Hydwen was ecstatic because that would drive the lotus costs down, and he uses it. And Devereau was ready to kill him because Hydwen's already falling behind on his tithe."

"What _doesn't_ Hydwen use?" Alton asked. "Look, I'm going in. I could use your help, but if you don't want to, well..." he shrugged, "if I got caught, it's your fault."

"No, it's _yours_." Derak replied. He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Alright, alright. Maybe there's some lotus in there as well that I can sell to Hydwen or someone else."

Iliira shook her head. "You shouldn't take advantage of him like that. Hydwen's got enough problems already."

Derak smirked a little. "You're a _terrible_ dark elf, you know that?"

"I'll take that as a compliment." She looked at Alton. "Fine, fine. I'm in. But you owe me."

"Sure," Alton said. He glanced out from the alley again, then frowned. "Did either of you see a magistrate leave yet?" He asked.

Iliira groaned, walking the other way and to a window. She had to stand up on her toes to look in. "Candle's still burning inside," Iliira said, "so no. Gods, Alton, if I was as bad at being a dark elf as you are at being a thief, I'd be albino and be a priestess of Lord Sol."

"Oh, come on, I'm not..." Alton moaned. "I'm just used to other areas. Devereau's the one that's got me breaking into places to pay off my debts."

Iliira pulled back her hood, enough to show her face, which had a mocking look on it. "Mean old Devereau, making you pay off your gambling debts. You're the one stupid enough to try and cheat the Guildmaster at cards! You're lucky he didn't kill you!"

Alton scowled. "Look," He said. "Not everyone's a favorite of the Guildmaster like _you_. Just because you're a dark elf, he treats you-"

"It's got nothing to do with that!" Iliira exclaimed. "I pay my tithe - my two tithes, actually, since I board at the Guild as well - I keep my head down, and I don't go into debts by trying to convince the _Guildmaster_ that a deck of cards really does have five knaves. _That's_ what he likes about me." She sighed, pulling her hood back down. "Maybe if you-"

"Maybe," Derak interrupted, "we should keep our voices down as long as we're in an alley outside of a magistrate's office."

Alton and Iliira both did the same motion - cross their arms and lean against the wall of the building. Alton stared intently at the ground like it had just insulted him. Iliira just pulled her hood down more, and sighed. It was going to be a _long_ night...

* * *

The magistrate's office was, fortunately, relatively simple in design. They entered through its back door a few hours later - the magistrate had apparently been pulling a late shift - after Alton picked open its lock. The office's first floor was simply a lobby and a small meeting room, and a second, larger room for, Iliira guessed, larger meetings. Or something. Iliira hadn't ever stood before a magistrate and so had little idea what any of the rooms were for.

What interested the three thieves was the basement, which would be where any evidence or appropriations would be. The door that they assumed led down there was in the smaller meeting room, which was still dimly lit by the moons outside. It was made of metal, and had a solid, built-in lock of unusual design for the three thieves: a series of numbers on five separate dials that had to be rotated into the right position in order for it to unlock.

The three thieves stared down at this lock.

"How do you pick something like this?" Alton asked.

"Creatively," Derak said. "Iliira, you've got big ears."

Iliira's jaw dropped, and she looked at her companion. "You did _not_ actually just say that," she said, one hand going down to the knife at her thigh. "Because when I was young, that was all I'd hear from every other child in town. So you'll understand that I'll have to kill you if you actually said that."

"They made fun of your _ears?_" Alton asked, eyebrow rising.

The dark elf woman shrugged. "Children make fun of everything." She said, then looked at Derak. "I do _not_ have big ears. I have perfectly normal-sized ear for an elf."

Derak held up his hands. "I'm sorry." He said. "I didn't know and didn't mean it like that."

"Start explaining," Iliira said, drawing her knife, though her tone let him know that she had already let it pass.

"Well," Derak reasoned, "If I'm right, then there should be some sort of sound when you get to the right number on each dial. Something will slide into place. Think about like with a key and its teeth fitting into place."

Iliira looked at Alton, who shrugged. "Makes sense, I guess," she said, sliding her knife back into place and getting down onto one knee so that she was eye level with the dials. Pressing one ear to it, she began turning the first dial. When it reached the number '1,' there was a _click_, different from the one caused by her turning it.

"I think that's it," Iliira said softly, beginning on the second dial. When she heard a similar _click_, she moved to the next, and the one after that - and eventually ended up with a number sequence of 1-2-3-4-5. With a more audible click on the number five, the door creaked open a few inches.

Iliira stood up, staring at the numbers for awhile. "I feel stupider for not trying that first," She said.

"Me too." Alton said.

"Not as stupid as the magistrate will feel," Derak said, swinging open the door enough so that the three could slip on through and into the lightless basement. Iliira blinked a little as she did so, her vision naturally slipping from the mundane one of most creatures to the black-and-white of darkvision. She saw stairs before her, that led down to a stone floor and a second door, this one wooden and with a more conventional lock. The walls to either side were solid stone.

"So..." Iliira said, "I'm going first, I guess?"

"If you want," Alton said. Iliira turned to look at him, just as he struck a long, thin stick off a wall. There was a flare of hot, white light, and Iliira cried out, covering her eyes with her arm as pain shot through them, right to the back of her skull. With her free hand she reached out and grabbed the man by his collar.

_"Gods damn you, Alton!"_ She exclaimed, as loud as she dared. "Give me a warning next time!"

Iliira peeked out from behind her arm, blinking spots out of her eyes. She saw, vaguely, Alton holding up the tindertwig in one hand, the other grabbing her wrist. The tindertwig was one of the longer ones, almost as long as the man's forearm. She couldn't make out his face yet, but for Alton's sake it better have been a look of regret.

"I thought..." Alton said apologetically. "I thought you didn't mind light..."

"I do when I'm going from complete darkness to a damned inferno!"

"Voices..." Derak reminded the two in a low voice, and in the same tone he might use to scold children. "Guards patrol this area of town at night..."

Iliira muttered something in a low voice as she let go of Alton, eyes still fluttering to try and get her vision back to normal. "I want first pick." She demanded as they descended the stairs. "Alton still gets his half, but I want first pick for him blinding me like that."

"What?" Alton demanded. "No. That's not fair-"

"I think it is," Derak interrupted again. He was at the door and looking the lock over. "Now will you two _shut up?_ Alton, get that light over here."

Iliira leaned against the wall, as Derak set about picking the lock. She pulled down her hood - something she was only comfortable doing when she was sure no one who didn't know her could possibly see - and rubbed her eyes.

"I'm lighting another one," Alton said, as his tindertwig was reaching its end.

Iliira breathed in deep and let out a long sigh. It didn't matter _now_, since she was accustomed to it. Still...

"Thanks," Iliira said, covering her eyes with her a hand for show. She heard the twig flare up, and took her hand away when she supposed would be an appropriate time. A few moments later Derak finished with the lock. Beyond the door was a open basement, filled with bookcases and cabinets. They could only see a few feet forward in the dim light of the tindertwig, but they could already guess the size of the room.

Iliira looked around as soon as they entered, and spotted the oil lantern she knew would be in the room, on a table a few feet away. She grabbed it and handed it to Alton, who lit it and substantially improved their field of view. The room was just as big as they had thought - a good sixty feet from end to end - and just as packed full as well, with a row of bookcases on their left and several rows of tall cabinets on their right.

Derak sighed. "This is going to take awhile." He said, walking up to one of the cabinets and trying to open it. It was locked. "We don't even know where anything valuable is."

Iliira looked the room over. "Maybe." She said, going instead to a bookcase and looking over the books in there. "But maybe we can cheat."

"I'm all for cheating." Alton said, coming up to Iliira and holding the lantern up. "Let me guess: records. Find the record on the lotus smuggler, and we'll find where his goods were stored."

"Exactly." Iliira said, moving over to another bookcase and scanning the titles scrawled on the tomes' spines. They were dates, and got steadily more recent as they got further from the door. After confirming this, she stopped looking at individual books and just walked towards the other wall, Alton in tow, stopping every now and then to check spines. "And since our boy was caught today, the most recent book will have his stuff in it. Here we go," she stopped at a mostly-empty book case, and picked out a book dated for this month. It was mostly blank, and the magistrate's handwriting was terrible, but she was able to find the lotus smuggler easily enough. "Here we go." She repeated. "It's marked as 14-12-4." She looked at the cabinets, then back down at Derak. "You figure that one out."

The fourteen, as it turned out, was the row number, the rows going from the left of the room to the right, with row one being near the door and going as far back as fifteen. Twelve was the number of the specific cabinet in that row, the one furthest to the right, and again the cabinets in each row were fifteen. Four was the drawer number - and the drawers, the thieves noted, were quite large - out of six on each cabinet. After that, it was a simple matter of picking it and sliding the drawer open.

Inside were two cloth bags. One was heavy, and full of hard objects that grinded against each other with the satisfying sound that gemstones made when they did such. The other was lighter, and full of something that made a very slight crunching sound, like dried leaves.

Or black lotus petals.

The drawer also had a few scattered silver pieces - which Alton took for now - and other personal effects that the three left untouched.

Sliding the drawer closed again, Iliira lifted the cloth bag, which was bigger then her head. "Alton, I take it all back," she said, smiling. "Except the first pick part."

"How much is black lotus _worth?_" Alton asked, looking at the bag that Derak held. It wasn't very large, no more then both his fists together.

"A lot?" Iliira asked.

"Four silver per one-fourth ounce," Derak said. The two looked at him, and he shrugged. "I've sold it before." He said. "Price goes up or down, but four silver a quarter ounce is generally about what it's worth."

"How much is that?"

Derak held the bag in his palm, looking into space as he thought. "Maybe a pound." He said. "Pound and a half."

Iliira let out a low chuckle, and the two started walking away. Alton, however, stayed in place. "Wait," he said, and they stopped. "Wait. Iliira, bare minimum, how much do you think that bag's worth?"

"The bag?" Iliira wrinkled her nose. "A copper. Maybe two."

"Iliira..." Alton groaned.

"I know, I know," Iliira said, smiling. "I don't know how much the gems will be. A few hundred gold, I'd guess. Three hundred, minimum."

"Then we have a problem," Alton said, coming forward, "Because that's a lot more gems then that lotus is worth."

The other two thieves looked at the bag of gems. "No," Derak said. "No, we don't have a problem. Whoever paid the smuggler has a problem. _We_ have a big hit."

"Or maybe the gems are all flawed," Iliira said, opening the bag...and pulling out a perfectly cut lapis lazuli the size of her thumb. Not the most valuable gemstone in the world, but there was nothing wrong with it. She put it back, and next pulled out as fine an example of a zircon as any of them had ever seen. Again, it was no star sapphire, but there was still a good fifty gold in a gem that was smaller then Iliira's eye.

"Maybe he was doing something else," Iliira guessed. "Besides smuggling. Mercenary, bounty hunter, missionary work, I don't care. I'm rich, you're rich, Derak's rich. Devereau's getting rich off of us, but that's fair because he's letting me live in the Guild, didn't kill you for cheating him, and..." she looked at Derak. "I've got nothing for you." She admitted after a moment. "You're just giving him money."

"It just bothers me," Alton said. "That's too much gold. It's like walking into some country inn and finding the Duke of Drakenmoor there."

"Hey," Iliira objected. "I grew up in 'some country inn.' I worked at 'some country inn.' My father owns-"

"But you get the point, right?" Alton interrupted.

Derak sighed. "And it's a good point," he conceded, "But what's it matter? Unless you're saying you've led us into a trap. In which case, I'll kill you."

Alton shook his head. "If there was a trap, it would have been sprung by now."

"So there's no _actual_ problem." Iliira reasoned. "You just feel bad about getting a huge payday?"

Alton opened his mouth to say something, then shut it and just shook his head. "You're right." He said, pointing at the door. "You're right. Let's just go."

* * *

"And another lapis lazuli for you," Alton said, sliding it across the table to Iliira. "And another lapis lazuli for Derak, and two more for me. Gods, this man liked his lazuli."

Iliira smiled at the rapidly growing pile on the table before her and the rapidly decreasing center pile that Alton was drawing from. They were at a safe house used by the Thieves' Guild of Drakenmoor, the attic of an inn near to the magistrate's office that also doubled as the official tavern of the Guild, and thus tended to be occupied most heavily during the wee hours of the night. It was smoky, it was raucous, and it was intimately familiar to Iliira, reminding her of good times when she was younger.

The three sat in a private stall, a comfortable, if somewhat worn, leather-bound, half-circle booth underneath them and a curtain separating them from the outside. A mug of Pyren mead sat before Alton. Derak was a sterner man and preferred the native beer of Drakenmoor. Iliira could out-drink them both on their best nights - it came with being the daughter of an innkeeper - and had set before her nothing more nor less then a foaming, dark, and thick mug of dwarven ale.

Iliira sipped from her mug (a dwarf would have scowled at the sight of someone merely 'sipping' dwarven ale, but fortunately there were none about), watching Alton's hands carefully. The Thieves' Guild was more then simply burglars and cutpurses: it counted racketeers and con men, among others, as part of its fold, and Alton was one of the better in the Guild. She had no doubt that he had already pocketed some of the gems, but as long as she got more or less her quarter, she was happy. Alton himself was, by Guild law, entitled to the largest share - a full half, in this case - since he had concocted the hit, and Iliira and Alton had technically only 'tagged along.'

"And another lapis," Alton said, sliding the gem over, "and another for you, and another two for me. Iliira!" He exclaimed, after taking a swig from his mead. "I'd like to apologize for everything tonight. Everything. The eyes and everything. You're my favorite elf." He winked at her.

"You're not getting it back," Iliira said with a smile, patting just above her left breast, where she had put a red garnet, the most valuable of the gems, in a hidden pocket within her shirt. "I sat out for a full four turns to get this."

Alton sighed. "Damn it." He said. "I'd try and come up with a clever and sensuous way to tempt you to give it back, but I have a feeling you might take offense."

"Good use of intuition," Iliira said, leaning back and slinging an arm over the back of the booth, the other holding her mug before her. She had taken off her cloak and vest and hung them on a rack inside, and had at the door turned in her daggers, so she wore only her white, loose shirt, black pants, and shoes. Had she any breasts to speak of and looked about five years older, she might have been quite inviting in that position.

"Plus," Alton said, leaning back, "you look young enough to be my daughter. Or at least the daughter of my older brother, if I had one. And I'd rather not explain that to anyone I met. So, sadly, you're going to miss out."

Iliira shrugged. "I'm going to survive your great-grandson," she said matter-of-factly, "and still look fabulous when I do."

Alton looked mildly insulted for a moment, then let out a laugh. "Well played." He said, raising his mug in toast. "Well played. Another lapis lazuli for the dark elf."

"Not a happy thought, is it?" Derak asked, drinking from his ale. "You're going to outlive everyone you ever know, unless you go live with other elves."

Iliira shrugged. "I'll outlive my father," she said. "But that's the way it's supposed to be. After that..." She thought a moment, then shrugged again. "That's just how things are going to be, I guess. I could be like most elves and treat everyone around me like children." She pointed at Derak after sipping again at her ale, with the hand holding the mug, and took on a stern voice. "Speaking of which, you need to clean your room. And wash your face. And put out the cat. And Alton, please put that bloodstone back in my pile."

Alton smirked, holding the stone up in his hands. "Only if Derak gives me back my jasper."

"Iliira better give me my quartz first," Derak said, producing a jasper and staring at Iliira.

The three thieves looked to one another, Iliira taking the quartz out from her breast pocket, the one opposite the one holding her red garnet - then almost as one shrugged and each returned their respective gems.

"No honor amongst thieves," Derak said with a smile.

"Eh," Iliira said, shrugging. "I steal from you, you steal from him, he steals from me...we end up with the same. So it's not that bad." She looked at the center pile now, down to just a few baubles now. "I call the three fake pearls, then I'm done."

"They're real," Alton objected as he slid them over. "Freshwater, but real."

"That's what I'll tell the fence, anyway," Iliira supposed as she pulled a small cloth sack from her cloak and started putting her gems into it, after finishing her mug of ale. "So. There is one question in this. One question that is absolutely critical, that demands an answer. One question upon which the rest of the night hangs. The question, gentlemen, is simply this: who is buying the next round?"

Quicker then the uninitiated would have been able to blink, three hands slapped the table - and, surprisingly, Iliira came up last, fumbling over her bag.

"Rats," she said, sliding out from the booth - and taking her gem bag with her as she did so, of course, as well as her cloak. "Same drinks?"

"Here here," Alton said, raising what was left of his mead in salute, draining it, and passing it to her, Derak doing likewise. "All the same all around."

Iliira ducked out from the stall, steeling herself somewhat as she did and tucking her gem back into a pocket in her cloak, her other hand clutching the three mugs by their handles. The only people in the inn were members of the Guild, and so everyone here knew who she was and that yes, she was a dark elf - but that didn't stop them from staring, nor from the room becoming noticeably quieter as she went up to the bar. She pulled up her hood not to hide her features, but rather to give herself that extra bit of security.

As she approached the bar - she was, at least, tall enough that she could rest her arms on it - she saw the barkeep break off in mid-order with another patron to look at her.

"Same all around," she said quickly, passing forward the mugs.

"Yes'm," the barkeep replied just as quickly, taking the mugs and turning to the kegs behind him.

Iliira grimaced, looking at the patron who's order she had interrupted. "Sorry." She apologized.

"No, no, it's alright," The man replied. Iliira could tell two things by looking at his eyes: it was _not_ alright, but he wasn't going to make even a peep over it.

Iliira turned away, biting her lip and wishing that the mugs could fill faster. When she finally got them, she simply handed forward a gold piece and headed back to the stall with them, ignoring that she should have gotten four silvers and two coppers back. As she slid back into the stall and closed the curtain behind her, she let out a long sigh of relief.

"Trouble?" Derak asked as he took his mug.

"No," Iliira said, shaking her head. "No. My own fault for calling slappers."

Alton shook his head, a tired smile on his face. "You'll outlive their great-grandchildren," he reminded her.

"Yeah," Iliira said. "Yeah, that's true." She took off her cloak and took ale in hand again, then smiled. "So. What are you doing with your share?"


End file.
